Brian Freeman - The Cold Nowhere

Cat laughed. It was funny to think of Stride with a crush on a singer. She thought about where he was right now and who he was talking to. People like the Greens. People like Curt Dickes. She wondered if he’d still want her around when he learned about the life she’d been living.

Her feelings for him were all mixed up. She’d been without a real father for so long that she had no idea what it felt like to have someone take care of her. To keep her safe. She barely knew Stride, but she’d dreamed about a father like him for years. He was a man, too, and she knew all about what men wanted. She could never have him that way, because he wasn’t like the others. To him, she would always be a child, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to fall asleep in his lap like she was a little girl again. Part of her wanted to seduce him.

Her mixed emotions showed on her face. When she looked up, Kim was staring at her again.

‘Your brain taking another rocket ship to Mars?’ she asked.

‘I guess I have a lot to think about.’

‘Yeah, I hear you. Sorry, sensitivity’s not really my thing. Stride told me about your mom and what happened. Wow, must have been awful. Makes me glad to have parents who are relatively normal. Seems like not a lot of people can say that. Now, my in-laws? Don’t get me started.’

Cat said nothing. She didn’t want to think about her parents; she didn’t want to remember them now. She was relieved when Kim changed the subject.

‘Hey, Stride said to take you to dinner wherever you want. His treat. What sounds good?’

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘How about Black Woods? You been there before? I love that barbecue-glazed meatloaf. Yum.’

‘Sure, whatever.’

‘Fabuloso.’ Kim reached over and poked her in the shoulder with a thick finger. ‘Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but sometimes it helps to talk to someone about things. You know, if you’ve got bad things in your past, it’s good to let them out.’

‘I don’t really feel like talking.’

‘I don’t mean to me! Wow, no. I talk to computers mostly, because they don’t talk back. You should talk to someone who knows how to poke around upstairs.’

‘Like a shrink?’ Cat asked.

‘Yeah, like a shrink. Lots of people do it. I’ve done it. It really hit me hard back in school when I had a girlfriend who committed suicide. I spent a year on the couch. It helped.’

Cat heard a roaring in her ears, louder than the river. She was a locked room, and she felt Kim jiggling the handle, trying to open the door.

‘You ever done it?’ Kim asked, not letting go. ‘Talked to a shrink?’

Cat could see Vincent’s face. She could feel his warmth, his arms around her, his kiss. She wanted to forget that she had ever met him. She wanted to erase him from her memory. She wished she had never fallen in love with him.

She couldn’t afford to let anyone inside her head or her heart. Not again. Not after what had happened.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen a shrink. Not ever.’

‘Why do you carry a knife, Cat?’

‘ It makes me feel strong .’

‘Your father carried a knife. Was he strong?’

‘ Yes .’

‘Did he love you?’

‘ Yes .’

‘And yet he did a terrible thing.’

‘ Yes, he did .’

‘He killed your mother, and then he killed himself.’

‘ That’s what people say .’

‘You don’t believe it? You were there.’

‘ I–I don’t know .’

‘You still dream about it.’

‘ Yes .’

‘What is it that bothers you most?’

‘ I don’t understand .’

‘Well, does it bother you that your father killed your mother? Or that he left you alone by killing himself, too?’

‘ I — ’

‘Do you think he would have killed you, too? If he’d found you?’

‘ I–I don’t …’

‘What is it, Cat? Talk to me.’

‘ It’s hot in here .’

‘Do you think your father planned to kill you, too?’

‘ Sometimes I wish he had .’

‘Why?’

‘ Look at my life. Look at what I do .’

‘Are you ashamed of what you do?’

‘ Yes .’

‘How many men have you had sex with?’

‘ Um, I think, maybe twenty. Or more. I don’t count .’

‘For money.’

‘ Yes .’

‘All of these men were older than you.’

‘ Yes .’

‘Were some of them as old as your father?’

‘ Yes .’

‘Did you hate them?’

‘ I suppose so .’

‘Did you want to kill them?’

‘ Sometimes .’

‘Why didn’t you? You had the knife.’

‘ I–I thought about …’

‘You thought about it? You thought about murdering them.’

‘ Yes .’

‘It would have felt good.’

‘ Yes .’

‘Is sex a violent act for you?’

‘ I don’t know. I guess .’

‘Are there any sexual acts you won’t do?’

‘ No .’

‘None at all?’

‘ No. ’

‘Do you think you could kill someone?’

‘ I don’t know .’

‘If you carry a knife, you must think you could use it.’

‘ Please. It’s hot in here .’

‘I’ll open a window.’

Stride found Curt Dickes in Canal Park, steps away from the steel lift bridge that towered over the harbor. Behind him, angry lake waves hit the rocks and blew up in clouds of spray over the boardwalk. There was no sun, but Dickes wore metallic sunglasses. He was dressed in a black wool coat that draped to his ankles, and the wind swooped his coat behind him like a cape. Underneath, he wore a lavender silk shirt and pleated tan pants that ballooned at his skinny waist. A square-bottomed tie blew over his shoulder. His shoes were black sneakers.

When Dickes saw Stride, half of his face folded upward into a cocky smile. ‘Hey, Lieutenant Stride. I don’t usually get to see the big guy anymore. Most of the time it’s Sergeant Guppo or one of the other boys in uniform.’

‘Hello, Curt,’ Stride said. ‘Nice outfit.’

‘It’s trendy, huh?’

‘Sure. Pretty nice ride you’ve got there, too.’

Dickes stood next to a showroom-new red Ford Fusion in the parking lot. ‘It’s sweet, isn’t it? Plus, I’m saving the planet. Very cool.’

‘Yeah, you’re a regular Al Gore, Curt.’

Stride noticed an advertisement on the vehicle plates from Lowball Lenny’s huge Ford showroom on Miller Hill. He didn’t like the coincidence of Curt Dickes showing up in a car he couldn’t afford, the day after Leonard Keck’s party aboard the Charles Frederick .

‘So where’d you get the money for the car?’ he asked. ‘You’re a janitor, aren’t you? You throw sawdust on puke.’

‘In my day job, sure, but I’m also an entrepreneur.’

‘Oh, yes? Doing what?’

Dickes used his index finger like a comb to smooth his black, greased hair, which barely moved in the ferocious wind. The breeze off the entire lake, however, wasn’t enough to overpower Dickes’s Monsieur Musk cologne, which oozed from his skin like burnt incense. The twenty-five-year-old dug in his coat pocket and extracted a business card and handed it to Stride.

‘Entertainment Advisor?’ Stride asked, reading the title. He shook his head and laughed.

‘That’s me.’

‘I hear you’re a pimp now,’ Stride said.

Dickes slapped a hand over his heart in mock dismay. ‘Tourists have lots of entertainment needs. I do what I can.’